


Botched Ventures and Adverse Alimentary Comportment

by onemechanicalalligator



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemechanicalalligator/pseuds/onemechanicalalligator
Summary: “You’re not stupid. Or careless. Reckless, maybe. Self-destructive, definitely.”“What’s your point?”“You didn’t make a mistake. You knew what would happen if you mixed those pills and all that scotch.”Takes place immediately after "G.I. Jeff," because I'm dissatisfied with the conclusion of that episode.
Relationships: Abed Nadir & Jeff Winger
Comments: 42
Kudos: 244





	Botched Ventures and Adverse Alimentary Comportment

Jeff drives himself home from the hospital, his mind still stuck on G.I. Joe, and he can’t wait to get inside and pour a glass of scotch and get to work on forgetting that any of this ever happened. He parks his Lexus and walks purposefully to his condo, and he already has the key in the lock before he sees Abed there, waiting for him next to the door. Jeff is frustrated, because he just wants to be alone.

 _You want to be alone,_ he thinks. _On your birthday. What is_ wrong _with you?_

“What’s up, Abed?” Jeff asks, and he doesn’t even try to hide the irritation in his voice. He’s not sure if he’s irritated with Abed or with himself.

“Can I come in?” Abed asks as Jeff opens the door, and Jeff waves him inside. Abed walks right over to the couch and sits down.

“Why are you here?” Jeff asks. To anyone else it would be rude, but Abed responds best to direct questions. 

“I don’t believe you,” Abed says, and it’s just a statement of fact, not an insult or an accusation.

Jeff sighs.

“What don’t you believe?”

“You’re not stupid. Or careless. Reckless, maybe. Self-destructive, definitely.”

“What’s your point?”

“You didn’t make a mistake. You knew what would happen if you mixed those pills and all that scotch.”

Jeff raises an eyebrow.

“What are you trying to say?”

“You attempted suicide. And it didn’t work. So you lied and pretended it didn’t happen.”

“Abed…”

“Is this related to your eating disorder?”

“My _what?”_

“I figured the fact that you were in therapy meant you were getting the help you needed and it wasn’t my place to interfere. It seems like maybe I was wrong about that, though. Are you even in therapy anymore?”

“Abed, I didn’t try to kill myself, and I don’t have an eating disorder.”

“Jeff, you can waste your energy arguing with me, or you can accept that this is happening and focus your efforts on getting better instead. Let me be here for you.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

Abed stares at him in a way that’s unnerving.

“It’s not obvious, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Abed finally says. “I doubt any of the rest of the group has put the pieces together.”

“Then how did you--” Jeff tries to cut himself off before he says something incriminating, but it’s too late.

“I notice things I can relate to, I guess. I don’t think that’s abnormal. Just awkward. For me more than you, at least up until now."

“What do you mean you can relate?”

“Did it never strike you as odd that I mainly live off of Lucky Charms, buttered noodles and Diet Squirt?”

“And you’re still skin and bones.”

“Yup.” Abed shrugs and doesn’t elaborate.

“Fine,” Jeff says. “And the...other part?”

“Obviously I was unsuccessful, too, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Okay, but…”

“It was a long time ago. Don’t worry about it. We’re talking about you. Now, what’s your plan?”

“What plan?”

“Can I spend the weekend here?”

“What? Why?”

“Because no one believes you’re in trouble, and they aren’t going to look out for you, they’re just going to leave you to your own devices, and that’s a terrible idea. I don’t think you should be alone. Not for the first few days after a suicide attempt. Please, can I stay with you this weekend?”

“Stop calling it a suicide attempt.”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Fine! Just...stop saying it.”

“Deal.” Abed sets his school bag on the floor and Jeff realizes it’s stuffed with clothes, that Abed went home after seeing Jeff at the hospital, packed, and then came to Jeff’s house and waited for him to get home. His breath catches a little and he brushes it off, tries to focus on being annoyed with Abed, not touched. Definitely not touched.

Jeff sits down at the other end of the couch, not sure what to do next. He thinks Abed might not be in favor of his plan to get drunk and forget about everything.

“When was the last time you ate?” Abed asks, startling Jeff out of his thoughts.

“Abed.”

“I’m not going to ask if you’re hungry. I’ve known you for five years. I’ve never heard you say you were hungry. Not once.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never heard you say you were hungry, either.” Jeff knows he sounds like a little kid, but he feels like he’s losing ground and isn’t sure what to do.

“You’re proving my point. I already admitted to having food issues.”

“Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Because you almost died today. On purpose. And you’re my friend. And all these years I thought I was being a good friend, a supportive friend, but it wasn’t enough, because I ignored the things that felt too awkward and messy to talk about. It’s time to face the awkward and the mess. I don’t want to lose you, Jeff. We need you. I need you.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Jeff says, and walks away before Abed can see that he is about to cry.

Jeff sits on the edge of the tub and feels hot tears spill down his cheeks. He’s not a crier. Never has been. But Abed’s words are the crest of a wave that’s been threatening to break for a very, very long time, and Jeff feels like he’s being pulled under, submerged in fear and insecurity and loneliness, and he just sits there and cries, and cries, and cries, until finally he realizes the only way to survive the wave is to relax and let himself float to the top.

He takes some deep breaths and doesn’t even bother washing his face, just opens the door, tear stains and all, and Abed is sitting on the floor right outside.

“Were you listening to me?” Jeff asks, not sure whether to be angry.

“I wanted to know you were safe,” Abed says. “If you had gotten too quiet, I might have tried to bust in. But you didn’t. I’m glad.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?”

“Don’t you think maybe you lost that privilege when you tried to kill yourself?”

“Abed!”

“You said not to say ‘suicide attempt,’ and I didn't.”

“I just…” Jeff begins, not really knowing what to say. 

Abed waits patiently.

“I’m sorry,” Jeff says, and he’s back in the wave, and he’s crying again, and then suddenly his face is buried in Abed’s sweatshirt and Abed his hugging him so tightly that Jeff actually starts to feel safe for a second, like Abed is somehow anchoring him here, and he hugs back with all his strength until he starts to worry he’s going to crush Abed, and he loosens his grip just a little bit.

They stay like that long enough that it would be embarrassing if anyone else were around, but of course it’s just the two of them. Abed doesn’t let go until Jeff does, and when it’s over they go back out to the living room and Jeff lays down on the couch. Abed starts to walk that way too, but he stops halfway there and turns around, heading toward the kitchen. When he comes back a few seconds later he drops a stick of beef jerky in Jeff’s lap and then sits down. 

“Thanks,” Jeff murmurs, and Abed just nods, then reaches into his bag, pulls out a book, and starts to read. Jeff is confused for a minute, until he realizes Abed is doing this for him, so Jeff doesn’t have an audience while he eats, and he thinks maybe this is the most considerate thing anyone has ever done for him. 

Jeff has eaten lunch in front of the study group hundreds of times, and every single time he’s been aware of what he was eating, and how much, and what everyone else was eating, and how much, and who was looking at him, and when, and his body, always his stupid body on display, and that’s every meal that Jeff has ever eaten in front of another person for as long as he can remember, and it’s just so fucking exhausting. And the thought of Abed recognizing this and accommodating Jeff without even commenting on it is almost too much kindness. Jeff doesn’t know what to do.

So he sits and eats, and Abed completely ignores him, never once looks up from his book.

Jeff stands up and takes the plastic wrapper to the trash, then comes back to the couch, and Abed closes the book and smiles at him, a genuine smile, like he’s really happy to see Jeff, even though he hasn’t even left the room.

“So, uh, how long have you been on the Lucky Charms and Buttered Noodles Diet?” Jeff asks.

“Since I was old enough to feed myself, I guess. I eat other things sometimes, so I don’t get scurvy or whatever. But it’s hard. Even the cereal and noodles are hard. I have a lot of problems with textures. If I could live just off of Diet Squirt, I absolutely would.”

“Food is just the worst, right?” Jeff says, and it’s tentative, like a confession. An offering.

“It really is,” Abed agrees. 

“And it’s exhausting,” Jeff adds.

“Yeah.”

“Like, it all just gets to be too much sometimes.”

Abed nods. 

“And one day it just seems like enough is enough, and you finally make a plan, and if that day happens to be your birthday, it’s just that much easier to come up with an excuse when you accidentally wake up.”

“Can I hug you again?”

Jeff nods and Abed leaps across the couch and flings his arms around him.

“Thanks,” Abed says quietly.

“For what?”

“For telling the truth. Finally.”

Jeff doesn’t say anything, just hugs Abed tighter.

“How did you know?” Jeff asks after a while.

“Know what?

“About my...eating...thing. What tipped you off?”

“You comment on your body a lot. You exercise a lot. You told me you were scared that no one would like you if you were overweight.”

“What? When did I tell you that?”

“My birthday. After you admitted you call sex lines and tell them you weigh 400 pounds. Which is also not something a well-adjusted person does. I’m just saying.”

“That doesn’t count. You were doing a bit.”

“You weren’t.”

“Goddammit, Abed.”

“Also, you’re afraid of carbs and you pat your pizza with a napkin before you eat it.”

“A lot of people do that!”

“I’m not judging you. You asked what tipped me off. Those are some of the things. I can’t explain the other ones. Like, faces you make that I recognize, because I understand the feeling, and the only way I can describe it is the facial-expression equivalent of screaming in a crowded room and knowing that no one is going to notice or hear you.”

“You...kind of nailed that one.”

“Thanks,” Abed says. “When did it start for you? The food stuff?”

“When I was a kid. My dad left and I think I wanted to show my mom I could be, like, the man of the house? Which meant being strong and handsome. It wasn’t that big a deal when I was really young but then I started growing and filling out and I never felt comfortable. In my body.”

He looks at Abed, hoping for understanding, and Abed nods in a way that shows he gets it.

“So I kept trying different things to make myself feel comfortable, like eating less, or working out more, and I made up all of these stupid rules, and after awhile they weren’t stupid rules anymore, they were just me. I used to have all of these notebooks full of numbers, calculations, because that was before there were apps that would do that for you. I always said it was because I was trying to be healthy, to live as long as possible.”

“Did you believe that?”

“Never. There’s no way it can be healthy to obsess over things the way I do. To hate myself and my body this much. I don’t think meals are supposed to be excruciating. But I don’t remember what it’s like not to feel like this.”

“Do you talk to your therapist about this, Jeff? Do you even still see a therapist?”

“I’ve never talked about this in therapy before.”

“Out of curiosity, what on earth do you think therapy is for, if not to talk about the things that are ruining your life?”

“Are you in therapy?” Jeff asks, glaring at Abed.

“Point taken. You should talk about it in therapy, though. Especially now, after this. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Are you really going to stay here all weekend?”

“Yup.” Abed doesn’t look impressed at the change of subject, but he doesn’t argue.

“You know you don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. Someone has to be with you, and if it’s not me, that means you’re going to have to tell the truth to someone else, and I don’t think you’re going to do that. Also, I want to stay here all weekend. I like hanging out with you. And it’s your birthday.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“We could watch movies.”

“I don’t have…”

Abed grabs his bag and opens it, shoving some clothes aside to reveal a few dozen DVDs.

“They’re not... _themed,_ are they?” Jeff asks, cringing.

“A trigger-fest of eating disorder and suicide movies? No, thank you. For _so_ many reasons. These are distraction movies.”

“Okay. I accept.”

Jeff grabs a blanket while Abed shuffles through the DVDs, and Jeff thinks maybe this won’t be the worst birthday after all. 


End file.
